


Jumping In

by Strbck23



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Dreams, Episode: s07e17 All Things, F/M, Sexy Times, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-01
Updated: 2018-11-01
Packaged: 2019-08-14 10:17:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16490687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Strbck23/pseuds/Strbck23
Summary: So many of us seem to think that she could climb into his bed and seduce him but I think she needs a little more persuasion.





	Jumping In

**Author's Note:**

> If you know me well enough, you know I’m absolutely obsessed with first time fics. I subscribe to the belief that the events of Per Manum happened before all things, therefore before they were lovers, but this Mulder & Scully weren’t telling me that. Also, it’s another smut-a-thon. I just can’t help myself. It’s my niche.
> 
> This is for HR. An XF friend of mine that I KNOW will never read this story, being a noromo, but she’s recently done something very special for me and I can’t thank her enough. Thanks for about 20 years of friendship, H. 
> 
> If shippers and noromos can have such great friendships, why can’t the rest of us get along? 
> 
> Being as I’m too proud a person to ask for help, thanks to WildwingSuz for not only (gently) telling me I need a beta reader, but also offering her services. I know the proof of her help is in the pudding.
> 
> Good luck on election day, US Residents. Ok, on with the show…

Mulder is speaking, but his monotone lulls me further into this drowsiness. Exhausted after the last few days, I have been struggling to keep my eyes open for the last minute or two. I usually pride myself in the control I have over my body. I can stubbornly ignore pain and discomfort. When it’s time to wake, I will myself out of bed without hitting snooze. When it’s time to sleep, I’m there within minutes, only rarely experiencing restless tossing and turning, usually induced by the man rambling next to me. When we are on a case, I can run on minimal rest. Mulder would argue that I can control such things, but I willfully doze off in his company simply to pass the time on stakeouts and long car rides. However, this is one of those times my body has taken over and I can’t will myself back to wakefulness. 

“Well that says a lot. Says a lot, a lot a lot. I mean that’s probably more than we should be getting into at this late hour.” 

In my haze, I feel him shift and he realizes that I’ve drifted off. Before I can force my eyes open and apologize, I feel him move again. He brushes a lock of hair off of my cheek, pushing it back behind my ear. His fingers brush through the strands and over my scalp, setting my heart racing before trailing down my jaw and leaving me wanting. There have been countless touches between my partner and I, but never one as tender-no, affectionate-as this. I remain still even though I’m alert once again. 

He is lingering. I yearn to open my eyes and see the look on his face, to return his gaze and kiss him. At the same time, I’m afraid to do just that. I don’t know why. We’ve done so twice. Once in the first few moments of this year and then again more recently, right here on this couch that long, dark night soon after his mother passed when he’d been looking for a distraction to numb the pain. 

Actually I do know why: Because on a night like this, with no reason not to, we might have to do something about it. 

Somehow, I remain still when I feel him move again, sure that he is about to do it. Then, confusion as I feel his arm brush mine before I realize he is reaching over me. As he tucks me in, my pulse begins to return to normal.

But before he gets up, I feel him stall and I am tempted once again to open my eyes and measure the weight of his stare. Before I can build up the courage, he is gone.

I welcome sleep now, still not ready to do something about these urges.

~~~~~

I was Melissa Scully. Sometimes, from where I am now, I can feel that my family is dreaming of me and visit if I choose. I haven't visited their dreams for a long time. 

You see, after I'd moved on, I wanted to communicate to them. To tell them I'm happy, tell them I'm fine. But when you try to make contact with the living in their dreams, you can drive them mad. 

I feel my sister calling now. I miss her. 

I join her, and now I'm sitting on a dock. This is a memory. I recognize it right away. There is Dana, bony as she ever was in her bathing suit, about 8 years old. She dips her toe in the water and retracts, dramatically shivering. 

“Jump in, Dana,” I recite. 

That is what visiting their dreams feels like. Like being on stage, reciting lines to a play. I did not write the words, whether it's a memory or a dream their mind is just conjuring up. If I try to be present, to speak for myself, their dreams turn very dark very quickly. I am literally pulled away and no matter how hard I try to return, how loud I call, they can't find me. I can hear their distressed cries as I am pulled out. I imagine it’s a way to control those of us who want drive the living mad.

Once, I saw Dana running down an endless tunnel, gun drawn, feet endlessly pounding the pavement. On another occasion, I saw my mom climbing a never-ending spiral staircase, clutching her chest, becoming more and more winded. I had to stop visiting them. Simply observing after a lifetime of interactions was too difficult. So while they might still dream of me, I would not answer the call. Until now.

Young Dana looks at me and shakes her head, shivering once more.  
“It won't be so bad after you jump in. Look, the sun is coming out.”

Without our brothers around to challenge her, to call her a chicken and give her no choice, she is as hesitant and skeptical as she always was, as she always will be. 

“I promise,” I’d said, setting my book aside and standing to take her hand. I'm still fully clothed and she looks up to me as if I'm her hero. “One, two, three!” We laugh as we take our running start and jump in together. 

As dreams go, when we visit from beyond, we can hitch a ride with our loved ones to somewhere we never would have been before, onto the next dream. I now see through Dana's eyes, either her dream or her memory. We are now looking at her partner, Fox. 

He has aged. I see that not only in the lines on his face, but also in the wisdom in his eyes. He's lost that crazed, wild look. I actually feel like an intruder because I instinctively know this is a gaze he would share with no one but my sister.

“I love you,” he says with conviction that would take my breath away if I had air in my lungs.

“Oh, brother,” Dana murmurs before turning around. They still aren't lovers. That is both surprising and not.

Before I know it, before I can stop myself, I tell her to wait, and she does, halting immediately. 

“Melissa?” she asks with trepidation.

I should leave, I really don't have long, I should have already left. 

I try to sound as soothing as possible, knowing I am already being pulled away. “Jump in, Dana. Jump in.” I let myself be taken out quickly, rather than let her dream turn to a nightmare.

~~~~~

My heels and legs are killing me, muscles aching from how I fell asleep with them propped on Mulder's coffee table. 

I address my aching joints, stretching and working out the kinks before drawing my feet up next to me on the couch.

I sigh and idly massage my Achilles tendons, looking around Mulder’s apartment which is illuminated only by street lights and the glow from his fish tank, the hum of its filter relaxes me. I feel so much at home here, and I marvel in that. I stare at the dark floor where, just there, Padgett tried to rip out my still beating heart. I only feel the slightest twinge under my ribs, involuntarily recalling the chill and splitting pain of his hand in my chest cavity. 

Closing my eyes, I inhale the aroma of Mulder’s couch. The scent of leather and years of his soap and sleep fill my nostrils and I relax. I exhale and breathe it in again, lazily rolling my neck, rubbing out a knot.

I shiver when I think of how he touched me earlier, and now I recall the dream that was just there, waiting for me to remember it. “Jump in,” she said, like anything is ever that simple or easy between Mulder and I. 

It’s true. Tonight and not for the first time, I shied away from wanting him, from knowing that he wants me. But his advances are getting bolder and harder to disregard. There’s only so many honest declarations a woman can take from someone as beautifully earnest as my partner. I know that there will never be anyone else for me. Even within the platonic boundaries of our relationship, I’ve never felt so fulfilled with any previous lover. Respect. Support. Feelings of self worth. 

There is one reason I may have put a damper on the spark. Full of shame, I swore after leaving Daniel that I would never again become so consumed that I lost myself. More precisely, I wanted to become my own person, outside of what a man intended for my career, for my life. But Mulder appreciates, even relies on what I contribute to our work. “Your goddamn strict rationalism and science have saved me a thousand times over…” I quickly push aside thoughts of his lips close to mine, so close I felt his breath. I know it’s a cop out, fearing that the same thing that happened with Daniel would happen with Mulder. 

What else is there? Our superiors, of course. No. There are no two better agents to do this job than Mulder and I. Besides, I think we could manage to avoid getting caught on that front.

The everpresent syndicate. Fear that they would use it against us. Honestly, the ones that remained could all join their comrades in hell. No one should ever base life decisions on that kind of fear.

All that it really comes down to is losing him. What would happen to our partnership? If we tried and we ruined this thing we already have he, no we, would both lose a friend and ally in our search for truth and bringing those bastards to justice. 

However I am afraid that not acknowledging where our relationship is headed is becoming almost as destructive. My more and more frequent outbursts and rebellions can attest to that. I don’t really yearn for a house and a fence and a dog. Not as much as I let on. Deep down I know that. 

Finally, and the biggest rationalization I have for not jumping in is this: If I took that final plunge, if I let him in and we made love and then if I were to lose him, permanently...wouldn’t it be so much harder to move on? Suddenly, however, I know that that is another cop out. For the first time, I become conscious of this feeling that if, God forbid, I never saw his face again I would regret not exploring that final frontier. 

Does that feeling outweigh the fear of compounding potential heartbreak? 

I think I am tired of being afraid.

Minutes later, after washing and drying my hands, I’m staring at myself in his bathroom mirror. The least I can do is talk to him about it. I nod, fidgeting with the necklace hanging from my neck, identical to hers. I don’t know about jumping in, Melissa, but I will face this.

Before going out there, I have to do something about my breath. If the taste in my mouth is any indication, I really need to brush my teeth. I smile when I open his medicine cabinet, finding a couple of spare toothbrushes still in their packaging. We’ve both gotten in the habit of keeping a few extra necessities lying around. 

After brushing and rinsing, I retrieve a washcloth. If only he had some spare makeup lying around, or even something to remove it. The best I can do is wipe away some mascara residue, cleaning up the blackness around my eyes. 

Giving my hair a once over, I feel more presentable. But just before I exit, with my hand on the doorknob, I decide to remove my pantyhose. After doing this, I decide I can at least freshen up. Not for him, I tell myself, it’s only the next best thing to a shower. 

I retrieve the washcloth from his hamper where I had draped it over the edge to dry, and using the soap from his shower I lather it up. I squeeze most of the water out, hike up my skirt, slide it into my panties and wash up. After rinsing the soap out, I repeat. With that done, I raise my arm and sniff and find the smell agreeable. Unfortunately, nothing can be done for the stubble on my legs without using his razor and shaving cream with my leg propped up on his sink. No thank you.

Alright, this is it. Giving my reflection one final glance, I exit and shove my stockings into the pocket of my blazer which I’d deposited on his dresser before I went to the bathroom. 

Quietly, I advance toward his bed. The only light sources are from his bathroom where I’d left the door half ajar and again, streetlights. 

He lies on his side, so that I can admire his bare shoulders. I don’t know what I was thinking, I don’t have the nerve to wake him, but perhaps I’ll share his bed and talk with him in the morning. 

Before climbing in, however, the desire to watch him sleep, just for a moment, becomes undeniable. I walk around his bed, slowly, feeling out a path with my feet, knowing his tendency to kick off his shoes in the most inconvenient places. 

When I make it to the corner on his side of the bed, I freeze when I realize that his eyes are open. He’s not sleeping. He’s staring at the wall. Panic face. I can’t jump in! This is too much. 

I turn my head, wondering if I can make it to the door, to escape without him catching me. But when I turn back to look at him, his eyes are on me. Crap!

“Oh, you’re awake.” I say, chiding myself at how unconvincing I sound. 

“Yeah, I can’t sleep. Usually watch TV or something for a while. I would have offered you the bed, but...I thought you might leave if I woke you.” He reaches over and turns on a lamp. The look on his face as he props up on his elbow so he can see me better calms me a little, he feels just as out of place as I do. But that’s no wonder, given how I deflect most of his advances.

“Are you implying you wanted me to spend the night, Mulder?” It’s not jumping in, but giving him a dose of his innuendo now and again has become more natural to me.

He narrows his eyes and takes a few beats before responding. I feel him studying me, as if he is peeling back my layers, trying to decipher where I want this to go. 

“You’re always welcome to…” he scoots over a bit, tapping the bed much in the way that he did when we were an undercover married couple. He has used his Scully decoder ring and decided that just maybe I will respond to a challenge. He is daring me that I won’t accept. 

This is what I’ve deduced as I took my own moment to calculate his intentions. “Ok, Mulder…” I step closer to him. “Move over.” 

He does so quickly, raising the covers for me after he’s made room. I climb in, still fully dressed in my tasteful skirt and knit top. He positions the blankets over me, propped up on his elbow to look down at my face as I lie there on my back, only an inch or two between us. I intertwine my fingers on the blanket over my waist. For a while, we are both quiet, me looking at the ceiling trying to ignore the fact that he is watching me.

“Scully, you’re overdressed.”

More silence, I can feel him patiently waiting for my response. “Are you trying to get me naked?”

He laughs in an awkward way I’ve never quite heard before. I watch him in my peripheral vision and he looks off toward the wall. When I look at him now, he returns his eyes to mine and says, “Well, I was going to offer you a T-shirt...but I wouldn’t object.” And dear God, I could melt under those bedroom eyes. I’ve always thought he had them naturally, but when he turns them up to eleven, I need a moment to regain my cool.

How could I do anything but call and raise that bet? I climb back out of bed and watch him as his eyes follow my fingers to slowly unzip my skirt, letting a lock of hair partially conceal my face. I push the garment over my hips and let it fall before raising my hands and removing my top. Mulder is very much a gentleman, and really tries not to ogle. 

However, not in any world can I imagine undressing the rest of the way right now, not completely sure what is happening between us. So I join him on the bed again as I am, in bra and panties. We are on an even playing field; I’d stolen a glance and noticed he was in his underwear when I got in bed.

Once more in our previous positions, under the covers, me staring at the ceiling again, I relish in the feeling of him next to me. The skin of his chest on my arm. His curly leg hairs tickling my calf and thigh. The warmth of his hard body next to mine. I had forgotten what it felt lie to lay next to a man, and hadn’t realized it was something I missed until now. 

He hesitantly raises his hand from where it rests on his hip, gliding through the air over my torso before his fingers come to rest at the base of my throat. His index finger rests in the dip between my clavicles, the suprasternal notch. I swallow, hard, feeling my pulse react as he traces my collar bone, so lightly that he glides right over the chain of my necklace. His thumb caresses my neck as he strokes once over my trapezius and then back to where he began. While earlier he touched me more affectionately than ever before, this is was so much more intimate than anything we’ve ever shared, including the times our lips met.

“Scully.” He beckons me to meet his eyes and the gravel in his voice sets a fire under the rest my skin that matches the trail he just traced with his fingers. The hunger when I meet his gaze is undeniable. He tries to find words but they are unnecessary. I know he wants to put an end to this bluffing game. He’s lain his cards on the table.

I close my eyes a moment, steeling my resolve. Either I jump in or I get dressed and leave. I know that I would return to the office tomorrow and he’d make it easy for me. He is so good at enabling my resistance. But I am so tired of it, all I want is more of this.

I look at him again and nod. I rest my hand on his shoulder before making my intentions more clear by sliding my fingers around to the back of his neck, encouraging him to kiss me. For a brief moment, it’s nothing more than we’ve experienced before. He slowly moves his lips over mine, letting me set the pace. 

When he begins to retreat, unsure of where it’s going, I shake my head no and pull him back down, raising my head to meet his mouth. Now this is more like it. 

He kisses me with more abandon, as if we’ve gone zero to sixty within a matter of seconds. His fingers are in my hair, holding me to him as if I could go anywhere with my head resting on the pillows once more. 

He is simultaneously greedy and giving, plunging his tongue, but then pulling back and sucking my lip, lingering there when he discovers how much I like that from an involuntary whimper. He uses that as a stopping point, reluctantly releasing my lip but giving us a moment to catch our breath as he places a butterfly kiss there.

I turn my head so I’m not breathing right in his face, but instead into the crook of his neck. What a rush. I feel as if I’ve just jumped out of a perfectly good airplane, and figuratively I have. What we had was working just fine, and this is very scary. But boy, was it worth it. Then I am grinning, and now a small giggle escapes me. It’s like the adrenaline rush after skydiving, I imagine.

“Oh, come on, Scully. You can’t tell me that was like kissing your brother or something.” I hear the smile in his voice.

“Mmm...No. Not at all.” My fingers leave his hair and trail down over his neck and shoulders for emphasis. 

“Oh, thank God.”

“Thank who?” I turn my head, pushing his shoulder so he’ll pull back enough to look at me. 

“Shut up, Scully.” He grins and kisses my forehead. 

“There’s only one thing that can make that happen at this point.”

I hear a low noise, almost a growl at my invitation. “I’m filing that away for future reference.” 

Before I can argue that, he’s giving me what I asked for, moving completely over me and kissing me deeply. He lets me part my legs before placing his hips between them. He pauses in his descent, before I give him the green light to make contact. My hand moves to his lower back right at the elastic of his boxer briefs and pulls him close. 

I raise my legs and now, we are in a partially clothed missionary position and he groans into my mouth as his stiffening penis comes into contact with my center through just two layers of clothing. 

I am lightheaded, and that only intensifies when I let myself dwell on the fact that this is Mulder dry humping me between his sheets. I urge him to pull back a bit and adjust our position now that he’s near fully erect, wiggling my hips so that he’s cradled between my labia when I pull him close again. 

And so it goes for a time. Kissing, sighing and moaning, nearly making love through our clothes. Until it’s not enough. We’ve waited too long, and my barriers have crumbled so that the only thing left between us are two strips of fabric and I can’t even take that.

“Take them off, Mulder,” my fingers tug at the band around his waist in case he has any doubt what I mean. 

He stops kissing me, his lips hovering over mine for a moment, his body language telling me he’s taking a beat to consider my request. 

“Mulder…” I don’t know what to say to him. I’m ready. And if he is too, I want this to happen now while we are both healthy and safe. I can’t seem to get the words to come out of my mouth, but I kiss his cheek and then his forehead, hoping he understands. 

I feel his breath against my neck as he almost imperceptibly nods before, tossing the covers aside, retreating and removing his underwear. I raise my hips to do the same but he beats me to it, looking over every inch of skin he bares and then pulls my panties over on his way down my legs. He parts my legs enough to cradle his hips between them once more, licking his lips as he lowers his body over mine. 

“Scully…” he says hesitantly as he pushes some hair away from my face. I know from the tone in his voice he wants to say something heavy, and when my eyes meet his, I know he is thinking of protection. His consideration breaks my heart. He knows, and I know that he knows that it is not needed, I am barren and aware that he has no sexually transmitted diseases. 

“Nothing comes between us.”

The smile on his lips is nice, but the smile in his eyes takes my breath away. I place a few soft kisses around his mouth. I reach between us and confidently take his erect penis in my hand. He is ready, but for my own enjoyment I squeeze and stroke up once, applying firm but gentle pressure. I imagine he’s maybe leaked a bit of precum so I run my thumb over the tip, finding just that and he shudders. I stroke up the rest of the way until I’ve released him. I rub the pearly liquid into the pads of my finger and thumb. Not enough to lubricate anything, but it feels wonderful before it dries. Now I circle my fingers around the tip of him, feather lightly touching him before gradually applying pressure and stroking down. His breath hitches in his throat.

Rather than stroking up again, I urge him to come closer. I let him take control of his cock, and what a beautiful one it is by the feel of it. I am so ready I’m shaking with the combination of want and nerves.

Now he’s at my entrance, and he makes sure to catch my eyes once more before he pushes inside and his soft smile dissolves into pleasure I’ve never been so fortunate to see on his face. 

My eyes drift shut as I slowly adjust to his well endowed manhood going where no man has been for the better part of a decade. He advances and retreats, making slow progress, and when he is about halfway there, I feel a twinge and I wince, involuntarily pushing him back where my hands rest on his shoulders.

“Ok, Scully?” 

“Mhmm,” I give him a reassuring glance and nod before concentrating on taking him in further when I am sure he will continue. 

He is almost all the way inside, quivering over me from taking it irresistibly slow and I am so grateful; it always did take a few minutes for me to adjust. He ducks down to kiss my neck for a minute, sensually running his luscious lips and tongue over my skin in an attempt to relax and open me up. It does work, his ministrations and his breath on the new sensitive spots he is discovering sends a new wave of fluids to where we are joined.

I am incredibly aware that he is larger than I estimated when I held him in my hand. I take a deep breath and encouragingly move my hands to the back of his shoulders and pull him towards me, signaling him to take the final plunge.

He tries, I wince, and we both apologize. He shakes his head, thinking nothing of it, already on to Plan B. He raises up on his knees, running his elegant yet masculine hands down my thighs to my hips, lifting mine with his. He watches my face, and I’m more than a little impressed with the way he’s worked around this little bump in the road. Rather than push me to get where he wants, he’s willing to try another way. Who needs team building seminars?

He begins to move inside me once more and it feels wonderful. I close my eyes and let the sensations take over, gasping and looking at him when my eyes fly open with surprise and pleasure when he moves both of our hips in such a way that the tip of his dick makes contact with my G spot. “Oh, God!” 

He grins slyly, obviously pleased that that pleased me. Now, though, he looks down toward where we are joined for just a glance, questioning with his eyes if that is alright. 

I nod, more than willing to let him look anywhere just as long as he keeps this up. His eyes rest on my chest for a moment and I realize that I am still wearing my bra, but that doesn’t seem to be his main concern and neither is it mine. 

He bites his lip and then his mouth goes slack as he looks at our union and I actually feel him become stiffer and hotter inside of me. “Jesus,” is what I think he murmurs, letting one hand leave my hip to rest on my lower torso. And then he strokes his thumb over my clitoris at the same time he pushes into my G spot and I murmur to God also. 

I concentrate on his face as he watches us and without a doubt it’s the most exquisite thing I’ve ever seen. My chest swells as he slowly builds me up, giving me love and pleasure in a way I’ve never quite experienced. 

He looks back up at my face, finally, and I know I must be flushed and even look slightly wanton. He lowers himself over me again to our first position, sliding up inside me much easier this time. And when he is there, almost to the hilt, he whispers right into my ear, “You’re amazing, Scully.” 

I shudder, then whimper when he attempts to complete our coupling for the second time. He recoils, mistakenly thinking he’s hurt me again. “Jeez, Scully, I’m sorry,” he says, discouraged.

“No, Mulder, please,” I gasp, holding him tightly to me. He is confused, and therefore doesn’t move at all, unsure what I’m pleading for. My heart is pounding, my blood is rushing, and I am riding a wave of pure pleasure, feeling him there near my cervix. No man has ever come this close to it, and honestly I’m surprised to be coming this soon, much less at all in the missionary position. It’s certainly not explosive, but it’s an orgasm nonetheless. I bury my face in his damp neck, breathing in the smell of him mixed with my arousal, forcing myself to say it. “I was about to come.” 

I feel every muscle of his that I am in contact with tense, hear that low growl. I realize then that many lovers would take that as a sign to start thrusting, begin pounding, thinking that we’re on our way to a mindblowing simultaneous orgasm. My Mulder, however, remains calm and collected. After a few deep breaths, he raises to his elbows and kisses me deeply, snaking an arm under the pillow and gripping the edge of the mattress above my head. For leverage or to help him hold back, I’m not sure which until he simply presses into me with more pressure. He barely, almost imperceptibly withdraws before repeating that motion. 

I eagerly respond, my gasp breaking our kiss, “Mulder...Mulder,” it’s the only approval I can utter, other than “Yes, yes, yes.” I realize quickly. 

His lips return to my ear, rumbling quietly. “Are you coming?” He takes my unintelligible response as assurance. I can hear his smile, his pride. “I can’t believe I’m making you come, Scully.” 

“Mulder, please.” I hike my legs higher up his hips, gripping his back, asking for more. 

He continues thrusting, if you could call it that, applying pressure then withdrawing a little more than before, again, again, again. My climax moves through me in waves, over and over. I feel it expand from my core through most of my body in a gentle orgasm the likes of which I’ve never experienced. My muscles quiver around him during and after. 

The low rumble of approval in my ear turns me on again. At the same time I’m feeling quite bashful when he looks at me, and that makes him laugh softly and look at me with wonder. I kiss him then, completely adoring the way he looks at me but it’s also akin to staring into the sun.

That goes on for just a moment before he says “nuh uh.” He pulls out, to my disappointment. It doesn’t take me long to realize that he’s feeling frisky after the last few minutes. At my neck, he quickly finds a spot I reacted to before and I smile, lying back, wondering how far he plans to descend just as he begins working his way down to my breasts. 

My fingers run through his hair as he looks up at me briefly before pulling on the cup of my bra, exposing my right nipple. He takes it into his mouth and moans. I try, as usual, to tolerate it, but I don’t last long. I suck in a breath through my teeth, pushing him away. “Mulder, I…” I know it’s not entirely uncommon to have sensitive nipples, but my first instinct is to be apologetic. Probably because every single lover I’ve had have either looked at me with disappointment or panic. As if they had been handed an instruction manual on how to pleasure women and I was faulty. 

But Mulder just mumbles something I can’t make out and turns his attention to my other breast. He watches his own hand as his finger moves lightly over the fabric of my bra where it meets my skin. It’s a simple, sensible, black satin undergarment that I hadn’t chosen to wear for him, but I am glad I’d worn a panty set that could almost pass for lingerie. 

He still hasn’t uncovered my other breast, and now he’s circling my areola with his finger over the fabric. That doesn’t feel uncomfortable, I think, he’s not near the sensitive nipple, and I can take that. I bite my lip when he bares my skin though, fearing he will we disappointed when he stimulates too much.

First of all, Mulder has shown no indication of disappointment tonight, and secondly, he’s not been deterred by anything. Now he’s circling again with his finger, skin on skin, so softly I barely feel it. He places his lips feather lightly on my sternum, then the inside of my breast gets the same whisper of a kiss. Earlier, his whiskers left my mouth and the area around it pleasantly swollen. Now they tickle me and he catches on, using them as another instrument to stimulate with. Surprised, I feel myself moan low in my throat. I am astonished to feel the stirrings of pleasure there, a completely new sensation. 

I feel him glance up at me, and satisfied that I am enjoying myself, his fingers trail up the strap of my bra and sensually pull it down my shoulder, giving him better access to my breast. Oh my God. He’s still grazing the skin around my nipple, barely stimulating with his lips, pausing here and there just to let his warm breath pool on my skin. Jesus, I feel the sensation in both nipples, my breasts feel heavy, and now my clit begins throbbing. 

I flush when his tongue just barely brushes my areola and I feel my vaginal walls answer to his stimulations. Then I realize he has stopped, so I open my eyes and he is gazing down at me with satisfaction and pride. 

I try to refrain from smiling before giving in and nodding. Not bad, I say with my facial expression. He playfully rolls his eyes and shakes his head, “Some women…”

“If you’re wise, you won’t finish that sentence,” I try and fail not to laugh.

“Sure, Scully.” He grins and moves further down on the bed, his lips trailing kisses down the inside of my rib cage beginning just under my sternum. 

I arch my back and unhook my bra, remove it and toss it aside. He pauses in his descent, rising to look upon my face before he lowers his gaze to fully appreciate what I’ve revealed. The way he looks at me is almost too much to take and a new wave of arousal washes over me. I know that he really sees me, wants to remember this so much that he takes in every part of me. Yes, he’s seen this before, but there was no time and no invitation to take in this much detail. And to be on the receiving end of this much attention from a man as focused as this one is a thrill I’ve never felt.

He takes his fill before continuing on his journey. Here is the scar from a near fatal bullet wound and he kisses it reverently. There is a dark freckle he never noticed before and he smiles at it like he’s discovered a secret, some treasure with his name on it. 

He urges me to scoot up higher on the bed, and now his head is between my thighs. With a hand wrapped around holding my upper thigh, he won’t look at me until I am ready. His consideration is refreshing, particularly after a lifetime of lovers who I think, a couple of them at least, could possibly have had more consideration and passion for their right hands in their showers. And here is Mulder, already having surpassed all expectations, patiently waiting for permission to eat me out.

I nod, as if I could deny him now, after the wonders he worked on my chest. He urges me to spread my legs and looks at my vagina. His reaction can be seen visibly. I’ve seen enough of them, in books and in hospitals, to be somewhat certain that mine is rather nice looking. Judging from Mulder’s reaction, he thinks more highly of it than that. 

I hear the rumble in his throat as his finger pulls one lip aside, glancing at my face once more for approval before ducking his head, poring over my folds with as much concentration as I’ve seen him with over a magnifying glass and a photo of an alleged UFO. 

When he puts his mouth on me, he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath in through his nose. His tongue scoops up some of my juices before he sucks gently on the inside of my labia, and I know he is tasting me. Then he gives me a mischievous look and I know that he knows that I used his soap. It pleases me to have his approval, and that’s a little difficult to hide when he’s applying pressure to and licking places that no one before had even considered might be pleasant. Some of them do nothing for me, and then he finds one that makes my legs twitch unexpectedly.

His name escapes my lips in surprise and pleasure and he chuckles against me, making me shiver. After he’s satisfied with his explorative journey he goes all in, making love to me with his mouth. Propped up on one elbow, my right hand is in his thick hair, holding him to me. My back arches and my hips jerk here and there, involuntarily thrusting away from where I want them and where he wants me. He adjusts himself so that he can hold them still, and I gasp when he assertively places his mouth on me again. Watching him do this, eyes closed, savoring my juices, is extraordinary. The fact that he looks as if he’s devouring heavenly fruit, like he’s holding a slice of watermelon and he hasn’t eaten in days is nearly enough to send me over the edge. 

I lie back and find my hand on my breast, mimicking the way he touched me earlier. It doesn’t take long before I’m quivering. I both feel and hear him moan and look at him once again, and realize he’s watching me. His eyes leave from where I pleasure myself and settle on mine. I’ve pleased him again. 

Looking down the length of my body and seeing those familiar eyes, I know they’re going to get me in trouble in the future. I inherently know that there will be times when we are mentally sparring, arguing over some cockamamie theory of his, when he will give me this look and we will have to remain professional. But the fact that we will have this secret thrills me now. More than it should. 

He squints at me, perhaps wondering what I’m thinking of, reminding me of the first time we met when he asked if I believed in extraterrestrials. I’d thought he was handsome, equally brilliant and insane. And I’d have believed we’d end up coming this far almost as little as I believed in aliens. 

While my mind has wandered, he has brought my body to the edge, and now I yelp when his lips unexpectedly latch onto my clit. He’s given the bundle of nerves little attention thus far and now he’s applying suction and flicking his tongue almost furiously. 

Except for my quivering legs, I am incredibly still. For some reason I think of a firework on the Fourth of July. You see it launch, it climbs until you can’t see the lit fuse anymore, and the sky is dark. But you know it’s there, still climbing. 

I am that firework, I’m going higher and higher, further than I ever knew I could be. His mouth returns to my opening, prodding at my inner labia, no doubt giving his mouth a rest but I squeak. I was right there and I greedily tug on his hair and put him back where I want him. My assertiveness gives him a second wind so he returns to my clit and brings me to completion. 

The firework explodes. That is actually what it feels like. And still, his tongue goes and goes, keeping me on endless waves of pleasure until I feel I will break or crumble from exhaustion. And just then is when he slows his movements and I come crashing down. My clit is pulsing with his sporadic movements and my vaginal walls are rippling to the beat of their own drum. 

Finally, he pulls away and rests his cheek on my thigh, rubbing me with his fingers to help me come down. A few times I shiver as another wave of pleasure unexpectedly rolls over me. He begins to move back up my body, gliding his lips here and there over my skin until he’s at my throat. He finds a new sensitive spot just above my clavicle and when he lazily explores it, my core comes back to life. 

“Mulderrr.”

“Mmm..” he says on a lazy smile, thinking he’s only teasing me. He finds another spot I like. 

Jesus, he has no idea. “I’m still coming.” Bashfulness and modesty are the last things on my mind. 

He lifts his head to look at me, his eyes dark. “What do you need?”

“You. Inside me, now.”

He wastes no time, adjusting our positions until he’s entering me much too slowly.

“More, Mulder, all the way.” My hands have moved to his lower back, nails scratching in a pulling motion, beckoning him inside me. A deep moan escapes his mouth as he thrusts up to the hilt. I adjust my hips and raise my legs higher on his ribs, needing him deeper. “Again,” I plead. 

“Fuck, yeah, ok,” he pulls back and thrusts again. Already pulling out and preparing for the next.

“Harder!” His strong hand moves to my neck, placing it possessively on my throat. He doesn’t grip, but it’s so erotic. With that, when he thrusts again, he bumps my cervix and I cry out. “Yes! Right there! Don’t stop!” One syllable escapes my mouth with every thrust, into his shoulder where I’ve buried my face. 

When I’m done, I lower my thighs a bit, flattening my hands on his back to slow his movements. His skin is hot where I’ve been scratching him. I force my eyes open to find his and he continues moving. His jaw is clenching wildly, he looks like lust personified, simply carnal. 

So I kiss him, urging him to pick up the pace again. It isn’t long before his breathing his ragged and he is breathing into my ear again. “Scully…”

I nod so that he can feel it. I know he’s close. He props up on one elbow, moving a hand between us to stimulate me again, but I take his hand and hold it above my head, gripping his fingers with mine. I’m completely sated, and it’s my turn to watch him. I release his hand, letting him grip the pillow instead and return both hands to feel his back muscles move as he thrusts into me. 

His eyes are hooded, wild. Beads of sweat form on his skin. Here and there he throws his head back in sheer pleasure. My heart swells at his beauty. 

And then his thrusts become sporadic, he’s to the point of no return. “I’m...gonna...gonna…” He’s giving me warning, if he needs to pull out, this is it.

And in this moment it breaks my heart to realize that there is no point, and that kills me. There is no one else on this earth other than this man that I would want to bear children with. My eyes tear up at the injustice of it, wanting the chance so badly with him. And just for this one time, I rationalize, I will allow myself to pretend that it could happen. 

He looks at me and I nod, moving my hands down to grip his glutes, holding him inside me at the end of every thrust. 

His face contorts. He groans. For a brief moment, he seems pained, and then his face becomes more relaxed than I could have imagined possible. He continues thrusting, groaning loudly at the end of every stroke, until he collapses. He is mindful of his weight on me but I pat his back, signaling I can take more.

After a few more lazy thrusts, he pulls out with a sigh and rolls over onto his back, right up next to me. He is still catching his breath, holding his head as if the room might be spinning. I know his semen is inside of me. The stickiness I usually can’t stand between my legs is now a welcome sensation that rather than try to clean up as soon as possible, I hold on to. I try to keep his useless seed in my barren womb. I feel a twinge of guilt of having such thoughts without his knowledge, imagining that I could become pregnant. I can only hope he would understand. I look over at him and am surprised by the intensity of my feelings.

“Mulder…” 

“Mmm? Oh, sorry.” He was on the verge of sleep, but his first thought now is to be mindful of me. He sits up long enough to untangle the sheet and blanket at our feet the best he can, pulling them over us when they are straight enough. When he lies back down, he puts his arm around me, welcoming me to scoot in. 

I do so, somewhat less concerned with holding his sperm inside me, but still holding on to the fantasy. With my head on his chest, I marvel at how well we fit together, in more ways than one. “No, I um, just wanted to say something.”

“Hmm?” He is exhausted, but he runs his hands lazily over my back, trying to stay awake, always willing to listen to what I have to say. 

“You’re my one in five billion.”

His hand stills and I wonder if he did go to sleep, until he resumes stroking a few moments later. “Oh, brother.”

I laugh softly, despite the somber mood I experienced minutes ago. He knows what I’d been trying to say, and that was his way of letting me know. Even returning the sentiment, I’m sure. I relax now, and it isn’t long before we both give in to fatigue. 

xxxxx

I am woken by distant thunder, and am aware of the wind picking up outside. There’s a storm blowing in. It can’t be more than three hours after we fell asleep. I know it was late, as it had been 1:31 when I checked my watch in the bathroom. 

Now his alarm clock reads 5:14. I pout, knowing that if I am going to make it home in time to get ready for work, I should head out now. Also, I should at least get out of here before it starts raining. 

Oh my God, I think, as I become more aware. I’d known exactly where I was and who I was in bed with the moment I woke, but the realization is finally striking me. 

Mulder and I had sex. 

I blush and look at him, flashes of memories coming back to me. 

Ok, so we really had sex.

Yep, this is going to make working together very interesting. 

Speaking of that, I glance at the clock again. I sigh and sit up, gently easing out from under his arm. I turn and look down at him again, thinking maybe I’ll tell him that I’m leaving. I move over him stealthily and place a kiss on his lips. They are cool, pliable, and unresponsive. I try once more, pressing a little harder. A lock of my hair falls and tickles his cheek. Nothing. 

I know he’s exhausted then, typically such a light sleeper. So I let him rest. I’ll call him to wake him later. I move to the edge of the bed and sit there for a moment. I am wiped myself, we’ve both had a long week. It’s going to be a very long day. I walk around the bed and find various articles of clothing. I’m so tired it takes me a moment to locate my blazer before I retrieve it from his dresser and lay it on the bed. I turn off his lamp before retreating to the bathroom to clean up and redress. Upon exiting, I tiredly put on my jacket, watching him sleep, sadly thinking of how for just a moment, I let myself imagine we could conceive. 

But now I feel myself smile, tiredly, as I think to myself, and to Melissa, that I did it. I jumped in. 

And I’d love to do it again I think as I give him one final glance before walking out. For now, coffee and a shower are more tempting. But I’ll be back.

**Author's Note:**

> The older I get, the more acutely aware I am of how much more educated and sophisticated Scully is than I. I would have thought the older I got the less I would feel that way, but realizing who and what you are comes with age, I think. So I do realize that Scully would sound very different from what I write, but I like to think that if you were to strip her thoughts down, this might be what you get. I also realize I’m not very artistic, but I try really hard just to get down the stories that haunt me until I do. 
> 
> Really, I enjoy it no matter what, but if you did too, that’s a great bonus!


End file.
